.
























































        "Why are you crying?"


         "Because you're so beatiful–
           and someday I will never be
           be able to touch you again."

























































­



.

.































































­




















                                      "Did you ever really love me?"



                                      "I don't know."


























































­





.

oh don't dream

lift my mouth to kiss
every various coiled fantasy
in you sleeping

i have or will you

whisper a single immortal thought of nothing

fair skinned with a slight corona to each iris

drooping clothed in slumber

and i will( if you should let me)bring
more nice than dreams
into your head
each night, but oh don't dream

what do dreams meet flowers  ?
whose
             fair

hands seriously complain with

graves straight upright grey
in tight rows    ,

some effulgent rill of daisy
suddenly the earth breaking

the stiff silence of
FALL

.






























              "You turn me on in a different way that I'm not used to."































.

what are you?

are you as me?

areyouwhite?does your body sit easily

inchairs

knees skinny
not awkwardly parting
and fresh in grey light
spill young
out between your
thighs



                                   SPRING RAIN?

does up what seems a little clumsily down snow?

White and
White and
White and

everywhere, perhaps?seems snow

seems no

edge or fay

where might Spring's lewd fingers fit?
lewd fingers fit fat
lewd fingers find fickle fair frayed a bit fay
where its fingers can fit?

(the sun)
whose thick fingers
between the quick thighs of night

       can. fit in)just Spring

"What's it about?"
"It's a metaphor."

"For what?"


"*******."



"*******?"




"Yeah."





"What's that a metaphor for?"






"Life."

"I want you to know: I never forgot."






                                               "I know."
                                                            ,
                                                            .

                                                            '







                                                            .

there is laughter a girl fills the naked silence with her shoulders through
the angled tress of her white flower (a rose that) whose mouth speak
saying to live through careless moments of hurt sunlight: SUMMER the
curling sigh of ******* **** fingers between where sleeps her sonnet and
her hair.

o open me quiet

         –in–

more completely my
very closed.

that such
,of tightest whiteness,
spreads cooly

parts ethereally

the quirky mystery
of empty rooms
behind nice doors

(where every sleeping is awake
amongst such nothing so big
eats totally the quick figment of
a thought faster

than breath                                   )





.So let's small?

only it is that
in every vibrant stitch
or cream and leaves of flame
a craven volatile smoothness
the soil unbuckled
unto this day it swelled
a very giddy wart                  (it glowing on her hips )

swearing with repugnant beauty
it's scarlet freckles grumble with the moss

the dawn by who many the earth shall feel
in waking uneasily morning
they(the who)

men will go
boys

rising into the fleet darkness

what am I I don't know I think I'm a boy I grew up one time reading a book with a gun in my hand with a pellet gun in my hand I grew up a boy

Oh this were if only it were if
it might
be more possibly

to wantingly be.


                                    (but only)
                                          it's
                                        were

not if
or could.

Or if
it were
is

                       it might


(would)

     be.



an'
pleasantly so.

.































                                ­         "      Let's be honest:

                                                 you're real cute,

                
                              but I'd probably just want to *******

                                                            ­  .  "
































.

.




















































" your poetry *****.

it's like you're trying not to make sense on purpose."














































.

little                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                     bird



                                            

                                           the






                                                       ­                             tinly



                           ­                                                         kissing
­



                                                             ­                         of your wings


                                                         ­                             in the always






                                                    ­                                   stooping to kiss






                                                      ­                                  brightly morning are










                                                   ­                                   a perhaps song











                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                    like
        ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                   (little bird)
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                  the velvet
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                                 pocket of a
                                                               ­                                                                 ­                           violin



















                                       ­                                   rising























­
                                                                ­     chord
























                                   ­                                 'pon























    ­                                                                 ­             chord

























                     ­                                                             to the
























                                        ­                                         slender fragile aching


























                                ­                                                        immeasura­ble pretty



































                       ­                                                                 ­    of sky
















                                             ­                                                forever

& and of this swooping          twilight
i might say it
is it.                           one large enormity
  ,        small and tumbling
deftly clumsy                             and reposed
                          quicklyquietly
in succulent folds of mauve silence

'pon                                           the imminenthills

outside my window

there is very cute inside to feel its breaking–**** which–throat full of knees
getting onto its ******* ***** a little pink and so white gags on gulping of
clean seems innocently with needs to be.

to seriously know, to consider keenly: my father
dreaming father, lie in my dreams yours, father
lay your fears on me (each timber yoke, to my
shoulders father) each limber fantasy, father
bind to me they all and sleep father; lie in
me your hope, your heart, father place in me
by hand worn, the distinct immediate light
of strength, father, pass into one long night

come into my hands
they are for you

more unclosed

petals bulbs fingers palms

they are for laughing

the scent of the ocean

the feel of your shoulders

the quiet of midnight

sleep in them your fine
ribs, the night was magic

and you said, "I felt safe in your arms. Thanks for that."

the defined of nothing of chaste finite summer,
you of primrose heat
you of whitely stroked youth
you of pale and freckled dumb beauty
you of faultless poppied fields, sick with colour

you, Summer, neat of hands, sticky of lip
blunder sweetness: candied sighs of limp fragrant
earth, Summer, the deepest languor of thy supple
thighs, eat. laugh. die.

something girl though fragile likes

     (like i like to)


                                   Hurt

i have been most alive
when my hands extend
beyond extension, crawl
leaping the air to clutch
in them the moon fairies,
dust magic,

                           and music

o music usually that eats
its no thing and has breath
like a nubile thigh: young
hard hot breath that creeps

o music sometimes the or
loud curving rush of your
mystery it curls in my ears
it sounds like girls laughing

it has legs weak that tremble
for between them digging
fingers, a sound like piercing
emits                                   it

is softer

beyond softer it clings in
fairy moons, magic dust
and a whole muss of
shuddering envelopes its

rushing curve

and hands leaping

extended

beyond extension

.


















                                                              i would **** even stars































                                                                                                                                                                               .

there(realslowlydancing)is feet
cast in leather sweating ankles
up with(firstcalvesdiamond
hardlittlesharp)a delicate feminine

barely in neon

and shook smoke swirling giggles

thighs;****,pink!hair:andPrickles of

tingling most

(and bet tight i her inside is cool hot throbbing) DeLiCiOuS

)it all hangs in a rough instant

     between your mother's hips

        a nice rectangle of pine

             and a long night

                                           (Life

i will die and because of you (i won't)
if you should happen to find this
(because) then, if you would please
read it; dead i might though be (of you
alive more) distinctly breathing not
awhisper nor a wisp of breath from
un(reading)eyes

                                  (this)

thinks i to be dust is nicer than
without flesh without your flesh

skin and skin
increase

(The big moon was large overhead cross legged
sitting in balmy press of summer's flower stars
unrapdily tiny glittering from nowhere teeth as
white peaked between lips quickly stealing away
your smell is still in my sheets your blood is still
there where you stained them hard by a pressing
needles "ouch" you said i thought it was pretty
and from between your thighs crept a burst of
crimson fresh and stinking of copper in a small
hot room i had too much to eat please don't be
mad at me i'm sorry about what i said my fingers
banded in the rolling blades of amber exactly
street lights rolling over them amber not amber
amber street lights through the wind shield

        you were sleeping coyly nothing                 )

to be dust is nicer

i think

that first which out of nothing comes
warmly steep and comely dripping
in easily breaking and confused hands
(but though which are still are aching
needed to have on lipskinand) LOVE

                                                           ­         

                                                               ­                    is dear I


                                                             ­                           Have some i

                                                              ­  
                                                              ­                i have some



                                                         ­                                 dear of my




                                                          ­                    love in hands




                                                       ­                                       though which are



                                                          ­                   breaking easily





                                                     ­                                                   still needed





                                                     ­                                and aching






                                                    ­                                                           dear





                                                       ­                               too of mine






                                                      ­                                                  "please"





 ­                                                                 ­                     dear





          

                                           ­                                                             have­some

i guess some day my heart will stop stop
my heart will less
cringing into my lungs
flat drooping stop
breathing my throat will
around not a whisper
fold my lips into
bursting stop
my hands will
more still not
move or
kiss the slender
girl of a

waste life                                                STOP

i have stood where boys have stood
an hour of their body in the ground
from their backs to their hands up
pricking gently a cool stroke of wind

and each parting softly sleep stole
into the easy crush of rain, and into
the always agape lips of wanting spring

you think


                     makes



                                           (hurt


              me

                    )creeping                                      you


                               between


                 fingers' fay


barely and leather

(stud and skin)

teeth against open
your shoulder blades
apart seemingly *****

tighten furiously into
a grin



                 when

                 most
                 is
                 pain

don't go
(the world is)

i am


and sitting


miles away

(tick tock)

in a pale room
buzzing

(tock tick)

a fly

violently


( waiting )

where are you?
i love you.
don't go


(i can hear sitting) miles away)

a fly
buzzes
violently

sleep now
do not you
worry i'll

lift the tremble
i'll
carry

Dear,                     you so

and your
skinny heart
i will

,Sweetheart

impulse its beating to leap
clear your chest
and upon the night


        SOAR

by feathers of such kisses
as unknown by any
lady's lips

save

           Dear

                 the yours
                 easy
                 pink fantastic


cloaked in youth wild
and the rich sable
of lusting dankness

to be warmly moist with tender you

its eating body
of your nubile coffin full
its muscles sore
at your plaintive tug and pull

(the blanket your
shift of fayed
thighs the
bury hands
your head shortly
haired in a small
***** of my
gaped briefly
fluttering mouth

and a SQUEAK you
emit at my kiss i
can feel your ribs
'gainst my ribs i can
and snare more deeply
their sharpness
to my breast                  )

and Dear

sleep now
do not you
worry i'll

Sum Mer

summer

sum yer

summer thick you
your rind
is splendid
to break

by teeth eagerly
your juice                    (sweet juice

                                            soft juice

                                               coy juice )

it letting
runs so hotly neat

in rills instantly
it clings
to limb and brow

it rolls
it comes out of fair and crisply dying spring
a girl it comes

in short hair
and exactly fraying light

its cherry lush
(from where ardent boyish grinning gush)
is youth sharp in fragrant muss

(and too like would i
in there a bit to tiny die

amongst er thighs a comely playing
i'll a joust of lust to fill their splaying

       )in June time
           a coffee
              and its girl
             were
          they
             and
           i

lips sit
lips on lips
sit lips
that lips split
by split lips

lick X lick

to where a bead sits
between lips
by lips split

lick X lick

the it need
you and by
febrile coarse

"****"me

the



you





your frail
uncommon
heat


it




feels
(*****)

the like
an eating of stings


feels grossly wonderful
(herking jerking wonderful)
to choke

to choke so nicely
to choke so pretty

grinning hot
a flash of sharpness:

redbeautifully scratching
me my oh why

not
   the shaking

          you


are not unlike
a very bud
split
at
the nape
of crowning

lussst

(a flower of my bed
so delicate shook

by cruel thrusting
the parting;

                      hip's crook

                                             )

i will die the Spring will come out my lips a flower and will gather at my throat a forest i will not speak and it will grow softly tiny and millions

.























































                                "Let's ****."

"where are you?"

and by the way, "i've been"

the hour of a girl

(often to kiss the shoulders of mountainS"

leeeepinG"

.                                                                                                                                                                                            
































































­



                                                                                                                                             space


























































                                                                                                                                                                             .

driving; while in the backseat
i noticed orange small and sharp
flooding curled eve her hair 'bout
each revolution of my fingers, spent
twixt them last trill felt wide (it felt
enormous and hollow light as crushing)
it was full of serious ending and had convulsed
ever so little by little it shriveled(engorged)
grew, swelling to almost (inside me it did)
bursting

when i die there will a star
(wade out)
from my lips
into darkness
and it shall                  burst

it will part

and from its parting

tumbleshall

the sky quick with gold
and sleeping will flowers
touch lightly the etching
that shimmers and boiling
pollen with will mingle
in babbeling and hushed
coloures

the legion of your slumber is a copse of

innight trees

a trickle of moonlight

and petals caught

in glowing tinily

neat messness

(where a doe comes
between hushed eaves
her mouth pink rimmed
with and tongue plucks
from the body of each
flower,

                lust

i (flower) who god

                 blundering


staggered light full

bursting 'tween ribs

blossom quickly faster immortal wilting

                       (petal from stem from petal)


                                                           slough




                                                                            lilt







                                                                                             REst

o to breathe
how it is i love you:
your little quiet which
do not your lips betray
the slightest music.

o and quiet
how it is i love you:
the mute pressing of your body;
without words which
for saying nothing

is louder than all the world to speak.

.                                                                ­                         Q
                                                               ­                        u
                                                               ­                             i
                                  ­                                                              e
 ­                                                                 ­                          t

                                    ­                                                        O,

     ­                                                                 ­                       though
                                                          ­                             woh
                                                             ­                                little
                                                          ­                          ylgnis
                                ­                                                             you
                                                             ­                            era

                                                            ­                                :
                               ­                                                   soft and crisp;

                                                         ­                    won't you enter me

                                                             ­                 the gentleness (your unsound)?

          
                                                                ­                             I
                                                               ­                                 n
                              ­                                                                 ­    c
                                                               ­                            r
                                                               ­                         e
                                      ­                                               a
                                                               ­                             S
                                  ­                                                           i
                                                               ­                             n
                                  ­                                                          g

    ­                                                                 ­      by voice and unvoice
                                                         ­                  the white song: living?

                                                 O Quiet and you are so i think you are beautiful
                                                       ­  in your shoulders and in your neck i think
                                                           ­      you are increasingly beautifuler
                                                     ­                      than doused in night
                                                           ­                     and stars earth.

.




















                                           ­                                                                 ­                






                                          ­                is this real






















                                      ­                    (am i really alive)






























.